Hero
by Wavebreeze
Summary: Link is writing an essay for school about who his hero is. Who is the hero for OUR hero? One-shot, not truly meant to be funny. A different way to write a story.


I hate writing.

I'm only doing this because the stupid teacher said it would help me "connect" with the other kids. All the students are forced to write a paper about who our hero is. At this, they had all groaned and rolled their eyes. Apparently this paper has been done _way_ too many times before and they always do their mom or grandparents as their hero.

Though I don't have a mom or grandparents. I don't even have a dad or any other relative to do that on. Yes, I have done this stupid paper a million times before, but each time I've done some one like Martin Luther King or George Washington.

You see, I just got out of the orphanage across the state. It was a crummy place and I could never really make any friends because they always came and left like cars passing by. I watched them go, and after a while, I gave up on trying to have any relationship.

It was like I was the abandoned parking lot as all of these cool, fancy cars go zooming down the street – each one racing towards something new and exciting. I'm so invisible that I can't even catch their eye as they continue down that beautifully lit road full of hope and happiness.

But, now that I've left the orphanage, I'm reminded of my first friend, my _first real friend_!

God, she's beautiful. Her hair shine likes gold and her ocean blue eyes sparkle with joy. She has the cutest laugh and the voice of an angel. She is smart and kind and always ready to help me with anything I need.

Early this summer I had moved into a foster home with ten other kids. Yeah, a little rough but better than the orphanage. She had come to visit with her father, the mayor, the day I came. I have no idea how or why but we instantly became friends. She hung out with me a lot and not just because she "_had_" to but because she _wanted_ to. No, I'm not lying; I could see it in her eyes, in her sweet voice and how she told me everything about her. After three months I knew all of her dreams, her favorite songs, and even her favorite type of weather.

And could you imagine how happy I was that she was going to be attending the same school as I? For the first time in my life, something totally lucky and good happened. Meeting her was a miracle, something so amazing that I couldn't even dream of it.

So now I'm supposed to write who my hero is because it will help me "open up" to the other kids in my class. Just because I lived in an orphanage and am now part of a foster family doesn't mean I'm some crazy, messed up kid who is going to go insane with anger management or some random, stupid disease out there. And I'm not the only one who thinks that, she told me so after a few days when we first met. I remember that moment, walking down the street with the sunning scorching down our backs while we took any available shelter presented to us. She had smiled at me and said, "You know what? We need more people like you in this world. If everyone was as nice as you then I think we'd all be able to sleep better at night."

And I _wanted_ to make everybody kinder and more compassionate just so she'd be capable to get every single second of sleep she deserved.

She's the one who deserves to be written about, she's the one who changed my life.

I know teacher, it has to be somebody _important_ in your life but I don't care what you say, she is important to me! So I'm forgetting the silly five-paragraph essay and giving you the deep and thoughtful paper that you're always tying to force us to write.

I'm going to break your rule so much that I'm not even going to re-read or edit anything I just wrote. That's right, it is going to stay there just the way it is.

Well, that isn't the only reason. It is about one in the morning and the paper is due seven hours from now so I'm a _little_ tired. OK, I confess, I procrastinated. Though you should be happy I even bothered at all. I was planning on ignoring the assignment until she, the beautiful angel sent down from the heavens, started talking about it with me. She offered to help me by staying after school and re-reading my paper with me! Unfortunately, I had to turn it down and say that I already handed it in, being so smart and diligent. But really, I had just wanted to impress her. She's so smart and talented…she deserves someone better than what I am. The man for her will be strong and brave, clever and kind. I'm going to hate him so much but love him all at the same time. But, whatever emotion I'll be feeling, I'm always going to wish I was him, that _I_ was good enough for the lovely woman of my dreams.

Now I'm leaning back in my chair while starring blankly at the bright monitor that lights up my dark room. My fingers drum against the keys lightly so they don't accidentally press any buttons.

Jhiojiopjigu

Whoops, sorry about that. I guess I pressed a little too hard.

So there you have it – my amazing, stupendous, excellent, marvelous, and extraordinary essay of who my wonderful hero is. _She_ is my hero; _she_ is better than all those people out in the world who changed it in their own special ways.

OK, I don't really want to dish Martin Luther King and all so I'll just mention that he was a pretty good guy. I bet he already knows that though, considering all of the other hero essays I've written about him.

But she…ah, how much I want to cup her soft face in my hands and press her soft lips against mine…

Yeah, I guess that is a bit much to put in an essay that I'm handing into a _teacher_. Huh, maybe I _should_ edit this…

Well that about sums it all up for you (again). My hero is a girl, a girl who I love to the bottom of my heart. Trust me, it is easy to love someone that much when no one else was ever there to fill it up anyway.

Writing feels good like this. I don't have to follow stupid rules (or I can just break them, like I'm doing now) I can write whatever I feel like and however I want to.

I like writing.


End file.
